


brightest fire

by Nyxierose



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, First Time, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-14
Updated: 2017-07-14
Packaged: 2018-12-02 01:47:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11499186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nyxierose/pseuds/Nyxierose
Summary: "She leans down and kisses you with the brightest fire you have ever known, and perhaps you are being made whole as well."





	brightest fire

Oh, that girl.

Even if she was one of your own, you would’ve been wary. All it took was eye contact to know that she was fire out of control, and yet there was something else there too. Something else confirmed as she saved you, granted you the same kindnesses you had her a day earlier, something... well, you’re not sure how to describe it, but you think you’d like to drown in that part of her soul.

Between that and the way she moves, feather of a woman unaware of herself, you’re pretty sure she’s gonna be the end of you. But out of all the deaths you’ve ever dreamed about, this one sounds the sweetest.

You want to see her again. That’s it.

No, you want a lot of things, but all in good time and if circumstances align. For now, you _want_  to thank her and to show her that there is so much more to your world than her outsider mind is prepared for. You _want_  to hold her hand if she lets you and explain your actions of a couple days ago, your silence and protection and all the things that even you don’t completely understand. You will settle for that, you decide.

(You wonder what her mouth tastes like, but you could last years on that kind of curiosity. No rush for resolution.)

And sure enough, all is set in motion as you’d hoped. The trail of lilies - oh, that might be too much, but they glow in good moonlight and for a plan come up with without the involvement of the other participant, at least they worked. At least she finds her way to your home without harm. You’ll walk her most of the way home, you decide, no matter what weapons she’s got in her pockets. You’re proud of the instincts she’s already developed, proud even though you had little if anything to do with them, but nightbeasts are still a risk and...

And _oh_ , she looks so right within your space, knife in hand, playful and luminous and no real threat at all. You feel a strange peace settle upon you as you shift around her and it hits you that this might be the first time in almost a decade that you have been genuinely _happy_. Been too long, but you like this feeling.

(Later tonight, when you can’t sleep, you will draw her as you now see her, fierce innocent beauty lighting up your world like the star she fell from. It still won’t be justice for her, but it’ll be a step closer.)

As much as you want to slow down, to speak of things that need to be resolved, Octavia has other plans. Perhaps a misunderstanding on her part, but you know that look in her eyes and there is no hesitation as you bend down and take her face in your hands and kiss her. Unplanned, this part, but you will not say no. You will never be able say no to her, you know it now, and-

She tastes like blood and sunlight, honey and iron, infinite. A new plan forms in your mind, not what you’d originally intended at all but perfect in its unexpectedness, and you’re too overwhelmed with want to care. She reciprocates, returns the kiss, shifts against you and runs her tongue over your lower lip and oh, you will drown. You will go so far under if she lets you, you will-

“If you want me to stop, say so and I will,” you murmur. She’s young yet, and maybe all of this is new for her, and you’re no monster. You mean to worship her, not ruin her, and-

“Understood,” she breathes against your skin. Enough for now.

You lay her down on your pile of furs and it’s not what she deserves at all, not enough softness, yet worlds better from what she comes from - you saw so little of her current home and yet you _know_  there’s no softness at all there - and you push your regrets away as your hands map her skin and she reciprocates. It’s so easy to shed your clothing and tempting to just let her wander and touch and _be_ , so easy to roll her so as not to trap her and let her lead as much as her inexperience allows. For moments that feel like lifetimes, she hovers over you, staring down with eyes you can’t describe. This, you will not draw. This, too sacred to capture in your hand. This, too fragile.

“Thank you,” she murmurs, pushing her pants off past her hips and returning to straddling your waist. She leans down and kisses you with the brightest fire you have ever known, and perhaps you are being made whole as well. It’s been time since you’ve been like this with someone, enough years that you don’t quite remember how long - barely out of your childhood when that mistake occurred, barely old enough to know, perhaps even younger than the woman above you now - and perhaps the wait was worth it for something like this.

She does not know, but she learns. She wanders. She watches your response as she shifts her hips just so, leans back where you want her, and this too would be enough and-

Her breath shallow as you slip your less injured hand between bodies and begin to tend to her need. This is new for her, you know without words as you trace patterns and continue to map. New, her body lighting up and finding purpose for places once unknown. You grant her time before you slip a finger inside her, and she is hot wet glory and you arch your back up so you can kiss her because if you let her scream in bliss, that sound will haunt you for the rest of your life.

She collapses on you in her aftermath and you are thankful for how small she is, barely any weight on your chest as she feathers kisses on your neck. You could get used to all of this, her eyes closed as her sleepy body curls around yours. Not just touching her and making her feel good, but simply _being_  with her. Differences and distance are meaningless here, in the center of your sanctuary with the world crashing down outside for all you know or care. There is only you and her and a transformation without words, and all is well.

“Your turn,” Octavia murmurs, and you let her help you shed the last of your layers and then she sinks down upon you. What desperation she had has been stripped away by now, replaced with softness and certainty. She is not one to let inexperience stop her, and you knew that before but it is confirmed as she rides you. Slow, learning, leaning down for so many kisses as she moves her hips, beautiful.

You come apart beneath her, her name on your lips, and she is glowing and proud of herself in the aftermath as you shift her body beside yours. She smiles bright, her head on your chest and her hair in more directions than you’ve ever seen before, and you want a lifetime of this. You want her, in all the ways she lets you have her, and maybe...

Hell, might as well admit it, you’re in love. Pathetic though the circumstances might be, you are in love.

“Are you alright?” you ask her, just in case.

“I’m alive,” she breathes like that’s something unexpected. “Never thought I’d have this with someone. Happy it was you.”

You’ll ask her about that later, you decide, in a few hours when you walk her home. For now, you’re a little preoccupied with her fingers gently entwining with yours and the unexpected wholeness of being chosen.

“So about that knife...”


End file.
